Prologue – A Refresher Course

"What do they do for a living?"

I almost told him what Bret Maverick had explained to me. "As little as humanly possible." Instead I blurted out, "They're gamblers."

"Cardsharps?"

I shook my head. "Con men and cheats, you mean, don't you? No, they're honest poker players."

His expression had changed to one of skepticism. "Are they any good?"

"Some of the very best, from what I've heard."

"That would be the perfect cover, you know."

"I'm not sure there's enough money in the world to persuade them to work for us." The look on Arthur's face turned dark. "I don't mean Pinkerton. I mean WORK."

"Ah." It had never occurred to him that someone might not want to work for a living. "Not even for a hefty fee? Say, ten thousand dollars or so?"

"I – I can ask," I stuttered.

"Do that, would you? Oh, and you'd be with them, Malone. Matter of fact, the plan would be for you to pose as one of their wives. They're not married, are they?"

"Uh . . . no. I don't think so."

"Well, see, that's ideal. It could take as long as a month to resolve. If it lasts that long, I could go to fifteen thousand."

"Arthur, where is that kind of money coming from?"

"There's a wealthy businessman in St. Louis that's having a problem with his employees gambling away their wages in illegal gaming rooms. He's afraid that one of them will get deeply into debt and sell his prized secret formulas out from under him. He's trying to build a beer empire. His name's Adolphus Busch, and he's attempting to get Pinkerton to take the case."

"Really."

"Would I lie to you, Malone? If you can talk them into it, there'd be a handsome bonus in it for you. And a wardrobe allowance, of course."

"Wardrobe allowance?" That was unheard of at Pinkerton.

"Yes, of course. You'd have to go in there dressed like a wealthy lady. Not your usual get-up."

My usual what? So, I went to see Bret and Bart Maverick, who were staying at the Denver Palace Hotel. Bart told me they always stayed there when in Denver, and I believed him. Practically every employee at the hotel knew them and their preferences. Bret drank nothing but black coffee; Bart had an occasional glass of wine with dinner. Bret could out-eat almost any man I'd ever met; Bart's appetite was about the same as mine. They were both fastidiously dressed and always clean and well-groomed; that meant an unheard of amount of baths drawn for the two of them. And every single employee at the hotel acted like they were truly thrilled to do anything the Maverick boys asked.

"What's this Stansbury fella like?" Bret asked.

"Arthur is . . . not quite like anybody else I've ever met. Opinionated, prickly, difficult to deal with if he doesn't like you, acerbic, and overbearing. And he'd die defending you if you're one of his people."

Bret looked at Bart. "Sounds like Pappy."

Bart looked back at his brother. "Don't it, though?"

"When do we leave?" Bret asked.

"And whose wife are you gonna be?" Bart finished.

XXXXXXXX

A month after Arthur Stansbury first proposed the undercover assignment in St. Louis to the Maverick brothers and me, we were all on our way to Missouri to meet with Adolphus Busch. Traveling by stagecoach and then train was odd enough as it was, but to be in a dress felt totally out-of-character to me. About as out of character as the solid gold band on the third finger of my left hand. It had been decided by Arthur that I would probably make a more suitable wife for Bret than Bart, and he felt as odd as I did about the wedding ring. He wore one, too, and played with it constantly.

Arthur had mentioned a clothing allowance when he'd explained the assignment, but I had no idea it would be quite so extravagant. Not that either my new 'husband' or 'brother-in-law' needed it. They might not be rich, but they certainly dressed as if they were. Silk waistcoats and more suits than I had ever seen any one man own, they dressed the part of the very successful gamblers all on their own.

Nothing but the best, as if they lived that way every day of their lives. Of course we all had to look like that if we were going to worm our way into the inner circle of the illegal gambling operations plaguing the brewery employees. This was not going to be an easy task, nor one that could occur overnight. But it might be one that I could enjoy. Especially the 'wifely' part of the assignment. It would give me a chance to get to know Bret better. There was something there . . . he was tall, dark, and handsome, that's for sure. But there was something underneath all that. A sense of sadness, melancholy almost. And a sneakily creative mind.

And Bart. I dare anyone not to fall in love with Bart Maverick. Funny, bright, a real knight-in-shining-armor type. And every bit as good-looking as his brother in a lighter sort of way.

Why do I think I'm gonna have my hands full?